Disclaimer-Characters belong to Aaron Sorkin or J.J. Abrams. No copyright
infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead
is purely coincidental. The International Spy Museum is privately owned
and hopefully they'll see this as a wee bit of free advertising. (Corner of
G Street and 9th in Washington. Go. Go now.)
Author's Notes-First attempt at Alias. Hope it works. :" Some of you may see a familiar face with a certain spy-ish character. Just remember that she sort of started over after Simon Donovan died. This is written, or at least is attempted to be written, so that you can pick it up without having seen an episode of either West Wing or Alias or have read any of my previous West Wing stories. Hopefully that goal has been reached. I have to thank my head cheerleader, Agent Double-Oh Dis, who just plain simply rocks. Thanks for always bein' there for me. And especially for getting all giddy when I told you what I was up to. Your encouragement and love is unbelievable and I don't know what I'd do without you. Especially with, y'know, awesome directions and restaurant suggestions for D.C. To the Admiral, with her head full of facts. To the ever-impressive CDA delegation that went with me to our nation's capital, made up of four "University Bitches" and one D.C. Sweetie. To the Communications Director of the University Bitches, thank you for going with me to one of our last trip stops for a little research on this story. You four, though. You rock and I love you all. You made the trip absolutely fabulous. To the 'Crew, with hopes you watch Alias, too (and you-know-who for the title ;) ). For those of you who helped me with names... :" That'd be Dis and the VP University Bitch and the Admiral. I hate names. I hate coming up with them. *G* To Tess, who came to the rescue one late night of fic writing when I couldn't consult the gospel o' WW tapes.
Spoilers-This story takes place before California 47th on West Wing and before A Free Agent on Alias.
Archive-Let me know where, thanks.
Feedback-Always greatly appreciated.
To the Victor Goes the Spoils-When security is a family affair, it's never easy.
The two emerged from the Metro station together. She pondered briefly if it was like the phoenix rising from the ashes. SD-6 was gone. The entire Alliance was gone. She was still alive. All was well. Which was why Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn, two CIA operatives, were out and about in Washington D.C. for a day of sight-seeing before a night of rubbing shoulders with the likes of the Director of Central Intelligence and other high-ranking governmental officials. And Vaughn had a wonderful idea for their first stop of the day. Taking her by the hand, they crossed the street.
Sydney was surprised to see the long line of tourists curling around itself. "What's this?"
"What we're here to see," he said with a smile.
"Well, it's an interesting line, Vaughn, really. Lotsa people..."
He shook his head, leading her towards the door.
"We're not cutting line, Vaughn. These people look like they've been here for hours."
He pulled a pair of tickets from his pocket. "Of course not. It just helps to get these ahead of time."
"We got in late last night."
"So?"
"So, when'd you get those?"
"I called for them a few days ago, had one of the aides out at Langley pick them up and leave them at the hotel for me."
"The envelope you said I shouldn't worry about..." she said, drifting off, realization setting in.
He nodded, leading her inside.
"What is this place?" she asked, looking around.
"The International Spy Museum."
"You *have* to be joking," she said, laughing slightly.
"C'mon, Syd. Let's step back through time to the Cold War and see the old technology. The James Bond-esque relics. All part of our very own world of Espionage."
Having been searched and verified clean by security, Sydney and Vaughn slid through the waiting line to an elevator. It seemed terribly familiar as they climbed in, prompting Vaughn to find Sydney's hand and squeeze it gently. She looked over at him, smiling softly, as the floor lights changed from red to green.
A voice informed them of their next stop, where they were to assume an identity and memorize the information because they were being watched; they would be quizzed. Playing along, they each chose new identities but only looked at the biography briefly while the others were testing each other to make sure they had their facts straight. Sydney even noticed a pair of tourists making "cheat sheets" on the free museum map they'd picked up on the ground floor.
Their next stop was a video briefing on the history of espionage, followed by the "identity quiz" which, naturally, both spies passed without the "security guard" becoming a bit suspicious. They slowly strolled through the museum, taking in the various eye-catching exhibits and hands- on activities. She wondered about the lives of her parents as they wandered in and out of the rooms. Images of Mad Magazine's Spy vs. Spy refused to leave her mind. She could even see her parents in the oversized fedoras and contrasting suits. Making the visit even more surreal was the sound of smaller children, keeping themselves entertained while their parents, children of the Cold War, revisited their old us versus them mentalities, their fears of the Bomb...
"You okay?" he asked softly, bringing her out of her thoughts.
She smiled past the pain. "Of course." She pointed through the small Plexiglas display case. "I think I've used the Marshall 2000 version of that," she said with a slight smile.
"Who knew lipstick could be so deadly?" asked Vaughn with a smile.
"April Dancer."
"Agent Ninety-Nine maybe?" he asked.
"Agent Vaughn?"
The two turned to see a young man in a suit. "Do I know you?" Vaughn asked cautiously.
"DCI Conrad sent me to find you."
He was immediately curious. The Director of Central Intelligence hunted them down in downtown D.C.? "What's going on?"
"He sends his regrets on ruining your day off, but you're needed at the Farm." It was more CIA-speak, code for the main headquarters at Langley.
"Again, what's going on?" asked Vaughn.
"There will be a full briefing if you'll please come with me, Agents."
"At least we got to see Bond's Aston Martin," Sydney said with a slight sigh.
~~~
A young woman in a suit, maybe mid twenties, met Sydney and Vaughn at the main entrance of the CIA headquarters. "Agents, if you'll follow me?" she asked.
Sydney noticed that she seemed harried. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine, ma'am, thanks. The Director will be right in," she said, pulling open the large door to the spacious conference room. She moved in front of it, to keep the door open with her body as she handed them each a file folder. "Take a seat."
Dozens of agents, each with a file folder in front of them, sat at a number of long tables; several were taking notes. A large projection screen was at the head of the conference room, showing a black and white picture of a man, his statistics listed down the side of the screen, such as height, weight, eye color, distinguishing features and other pertinent information. Several flat-screened panels were equally spaced on each table and displayed the same profile.
Vaughn and Sydney found two empty chairs next to each other at the back table and silently slid into them. Vaughn opened the file folder he'd been given while Sydney glanced around the room. She didn't recognize a soul. She did notice an agent at the front of the room hooking up a piece of equipment to a laptop on a smaller desk. She also noticed a woman enter looking even more harried, even more distracted than the aide who'd guided them to the room. She looked all professional with her hair up in a French twist and her black skirt suit perfectly tailored. Her eyes, though, were troubled and red-rimmed behind wire-framed glasses.
"Vaughn..."
"Hm?" He didn't look up from his file.
"Who's that woman, do you know?"
He looked up and in the direction Sydney indicated. "That's Crystal Seaborn."
"Who's she?"
"One of the best in the business. Recruited out of high school. Speaks like six languages. Black ops, rescues... Her specialty is in weapons dealers, but she's done some Syndicate cases, was part of the team that took down SD-1. She's... she's good. Sort of a legend."
"She looks upset."
"A little, yeah."
A tall, distinguished looking gentleman in a suit entered and, with long, powerful strides, crossed to the front of the room. He spoke quietly with the agent at the laptop then nodded. The agent slipped out, dimming the lights before he left. "Good morning," he said somberly. "As most of you have learned by now, Victor Jordan is in town and will, for a fact, be gunning for one of our own agents, Crystal Seaborn. Those of you who are familiar with his MO know that she's in serious danger, as is her cousin." After pressing a key on the laptop, a picture of thirty-something dark- haired man appeared on the desktop flat-screens and large projector screen. "This is Sam Seaborn, the Democratic candidate in the special congressional election in California's 47th district, which is Orange County." With another keystroke, a smaller screen popped up at Sam's hip. It was a live-feed from another CIA office. One with people Sydney and Vaughn recognized. "L.A. office, can you hear me?"
"We're online, Director."
Sydney glanced quickly at Vaughn. That voice that filled the conference room? That voice belonged to her father, also an agent, Jack Bristow.
"Good to have you on board," continued Conrad. "Here's what we know." The display changed again, from the picture of Sam Seaborn to the passenger manifest of an early morning flight into Reagan National Airport. "Jordan arrived with a six-member entourage at 7:15 this morning. Agent Seaborn, three days ago, spotted Jordan at Heathrow Airport and he, her. Jordan, having a photographic memory, recalled an incident in Borneo three years ago." The picture changed again, to a gruesome sight of a hotel suite. "Seaborn was left for dead once. Knowing his pattern and knowing she'd been spotted, she immediately contacted the London office and the report landed on my desk before her flight was taxiing for takeoff. With that information, we discovered his name on the passenger manifest for the international flight last night into this morning. A team of agents was deployed to Reagan this morning, ready and waiting to keep him under surveillance. Unfortunately, in the morning rush, we lost him. It was a clear bait-and-switch with matching SUVs. Jordan never travels without a body double and several bodyguards. We wound up following the body double to a fast-food restaurant then a hotel. Thankfully, before we lost Jordan, we were able to get visuals." The pictures faded into those of matching black SUVs with an enlargement of their license plates.
"Here's our problem," he said, continuing. "Jordan has never been stateside. He knows Agent Seaborn is CIA; that's what brought him to the hotel suite in Borneo the first time." Another picture flashed on screen, that of an insignia. "He's the lead assassin for a terrorist organization called the Red Crescent Order, who we were investigating in Borneo. They specialize in making deals with other terrorist groups, filling in when members get killed off en masse. It's a profitable racket. Sort of mercenaries for terrorists. They also have training camps, protective areas, security for high-ranking members of militant insurgent groups, which is why we're having trouble finding him. He's gone underground and he has unlimited access to deep pockets." The screen changed again, to an older, distinguished looking gentleman. "Adding another layer of intrigue to this case and assisting him monetarily is European media mogul, Charles Renard, who also happens to be his father.
"Jordan, personally, takes any failure as a direct challenge. He failed to kill all three CIA agents in Borneo so he's coming back to finish the job. He's probably hacking the DMV and other online resources to find out who she's related to, who he could hit. With a visible relative in Sam Seaborn," he said as the screen changed back to the original picture of Sam, "we've got our work cut out for us, ladies and gentlemen.
"L.A., the Orange County election takes place in ten days. I want you strategizing on ways to keep the candidate safe. He declined an offer for California State Troopers an hour ago, more than likely due to the publicity factor. The winner of the November election, Horton Wilde, died of natural causes and here is his stand-in being guarded by glaringly obvious law enforcement officers. Stay on the line here and we'll get back to you shortly. D.C., we need to find this man and now. Secret Service, FBI, metro as well as state law enforcement agencies have been notified. They don't want to touch this guy knowing his history of violent behavior but they are going to be on the look out for us and will point us in the right direction should they spot anything suspicious. I want our government officials protected. I want the foreign dignitaries protected. Any bloodshed is a disaster. Laprise, find out what you can from our counterparts in France. Morgan, I want you to take point with the Secret Service to direct the efforts to protect the Executive. Thompson, metro law enforcement. Davidson, take the state agencies. Rowe, FBI; we may need their permission and assistance to take this guy down stateside and I don't want to ask for permission at the last minute and have them drag their feet. Bristow, Vaughn, and Seaborn, I want to see you three in my office. Dismissed."
The agents started to gather up their things to go. The footage of the LA office showed the same thing, with Weiss looking at the D.C. screen and seeing his buddies Sydney and Vaughn. By the time Sydney and Vaughn made it through the mess of agents, Conrad was in a huddle with Crystal and the woman who met them at the entrance, whose name they soon learned.
"Melissa, have Helen try to raise Sam again. Should that fail, I have absolutely no qualms bringing the office of the White House Chief of Staff into this. If he won't talk to me, we'll bounce it through Leo McGarry." The young aide nodded and slipped off. Conrad looked up as Sydney and Vaughn appeared. "Agents, it's nice to finally meet you. I wish it could've been under better circumstances. I know you were supposed to have this day off and I apologize for that."
"It's all right, sir," Sydney said.
Conrad nodded. "If you'll all come with me." The four filed out of the conference room and down the maze of corridors to the Director's office. His assistant, Helen, was on the telephone and they merely slipped into the plush office. "Have a seat."
Vaughn pulled another chair to Conrad's desk as Crystal and Sydney sat down.
"Initial thoughts?" asked Conrad.
Crystal didn't hesitate before speaking. She and Conrad had worked together for a long time. "Have we heard back from the surveillance team? Have they been able to follow the double back to the man?"
Conrad shook his head. "They're too smart for that; I think they know we're onto them. We're getting laser microphones as we speak. They've taken some rooms at a hotel; we're going to see if we can't listen in on what they're talking about. Maybe we can figure out where Jordan is that way."
"Can I ask a question?" Sydney asked.
"Of course," said Conrad, leaning back in his chair slightly.
"Are you certain this guy'll go after her cousin in California? That's a bi-coastal killing and would be quite an operation. If he's only known she's been alive for three days, how likely is it that he'll know her name and that she has a cousin running for Congress in California?"
"Should the unthinkable occur," began Conrad, "and Crys gets killed, it'll be obvious that she has a famous cousin who's mourning her at her funeral. By then, we've got less time to make sure he's protected and he'll probably also be a Congressman. I don't want to take my chances."
"Excuse me, Director, Agents." Helen appeared at his door. "No go on getting through Seaborn's men. Leo McGarry is on the phone for you."
"Thanks, Helen." He clicked the blinking light on his phone, putting the line on speaker. "Leo?"
"Rob, what can I do for you?"
"You know Victor Jordan is here."
"Yeah, I got that in my morning briefing briefly."
"I apologize for the shortness of that meeting this morning, but there's an agent here, the one who lived."
"Yeah?"
"She's the cousin of your former Deputy Communications Director."
"Sam?"
"Yeah."
"And he..."
"Which is why I need your help. He won't take our calls. We want him protected. Heaven knows his cousin is about to have a coronary in my office because of this."
"What can I do?"
"He'd answer your phone call, wouldn't he?"
"Of course."
"I need you to call him and we have to talk to him. His people know our number from caller ID and won't let us get anywhere near him."
"So, how do you want to do this, Rob? You gonna come by my office when I call? Put it on conference?"
"Well, I'd prefer we not bounce the feed all over town. Plus, I want Crystal Seaborn there, along with another pair of agents."
"When?"
"Well, here's the other thing. I don't want her traveling on the ground. She's the main target and I don't want to give him a chance to catch a glimpse of her, especially if they see us entering the main gates of the White House. I want to fly her in."
"A helicopter?"
"Yeah."
"I'll have to alert the Secret Service, some others."
"How long will that take?"
"Half an hour."
"Call us when you're set."
"Will do."
With the phone call ended, Conrad called for Helen and discussed a brief to-do list for her before returning his attention to the three in his office. "Within the hour, I want all of us in the air for the White House."
"Air travel really isn't necessary, sir," said Crystal.
"Yes. It is. Above the clouds is better than being stuck in traffic. And God forbid he get the idea to take you out *at* the White House." He looked at Sydney and Vaughn. "I want you to go with us. Contact your field office; see what's going on, what ideas they have and be prepared to help convince the candidate. Crys, we're gonna talk about your personal protection."
~~~
"Why are there people landing on my lawn and the Service isn't picking me up and taking me somewhere safe?" asked President Josiah--Jed-- Bartlet in the middle of the Senior Staff meeting.
"That's an astonishingly good question, Mr. President," said Josh Lyman, the Deputy Chief of Staff.
Leo spoke up. "Mr. President, that's something I was going to tell you about after this meeting."
"Do we need to discuss this now?" asked the President.
"Probably," acknowledged Leo.
"Okay. Clear out, guys."
The Senior Staff stood, thanked the President, and started to leave the Oval Office but Leo spoke up. "Josh, stick around, please."
Josh glanced at the other members of the Senior Staff--Press Secretary C.J. Cregg, Communications Director Toby Ziegler and Deputy Communications Director Will Bailey. "Sure." Once they all filed out, Josh closed the door.
"Well?" asked Bartlet.
"This morning's intelligence briefing... the agent who survived Jordan's killing," began Leo.
"Yeah?" prompted the President.
"She's Sam's cousin."
"Sam doesn't have a cousin," said Josh, shaking his head. "Two brothers, yes, but, no cousin."
"Actually, Josh, yeah he does. She's CIA," explained Leo.
"Come again?"
"She's a field agent for the CIA. She's the one who narrowly escaped her name being inscribed in the book at Langley," said Leo.
"And the report said..." Bartlet drifted off. "Oh. Oh my God..."
"So, that's DCI Conrad, Crystal Seaborn, and a couple agents coming off the helicopter now," said Leo.
"What are they doing here?" asked Josh.
"Sam's being a stick in the mud about security. His staff won't let the CIA calls go through, so they're here to get a call out to him. He may not listen to the CIA, but he should listen to us," said Leo.
"We're going to have to tell the press something," said Josh. "That's a unmarked black Bell Jet on the White House lawn and C.J.'s gonna get bombarded."
"Press is out at OEOB, for starters. C.J. tossed them out before staff," said Leo. "Besides, we can tell them the CIA Director was flying to, I dunno, BWI for a cross-country trip, his helo had trouble, and we cleared the airspace for it to land."
"Yeah, 'cause that's believable..."
"It'll go out with the trash; it's Friday," said Leo. "Right now we have more important things to worry bout. There's at least one *field* operative on the lawn who has to come in without being seen by too many people."
"Somebody go bring her inside," said Bartlet.
"Excuse me, Mr. President," Josh said, heading for the door to the portico. He exited the Oval and crossed the South Lawn to greet the helicopter.
"Josh," Conrad said cordially as he stepped off the helicopter.
"Director, is there anything I can do?"
"Actually, yeah. In a moment, I'm going to ask a woman to get off the helicopter and I need you to guide her inside as quickly as possible and in a room where she won't be seen by too many people."
"Leo and the President are the only ones in the Oval."
"The Press?"
"They won't be a problem."
Conrad nodded, and looked into the helicopter. "C'mon, Crys."
Conrad handed the brunette out of the aircraft and to Josh, who started to walk her inside.
"My name is Josh Lyman; I'm the White House Deputy Chief of Staff," he said gently as they headed for the building.
"Crystal Seaborn, field ops, hi, how are ya?"
"A little shocked my best friend didn't tell me he had a cousin."
"If it's any consolation, he didn't tell me you were his best friend."
A Marine guard opened the door to the Oval and they stepped inside. "Mr. President, Leo, this is Crystal Seaborn. Agent Seaborn, President Jed Bartlet and his Chief of Staff, Leo McGarry," said Josh.
"Agent Seaborn, it's an honor to meet you," said Bartlet, extending his hand to her.
"Likewise, Mr. President," she said, shaking his hand.
"Are you hanging in there all right?"
"Of course, sir."
The rest of the CIA group entered soon after, and Conrad did the remaining introductions.
"Agents Vaughn and Bristow... the Alliance case?" asked Bartlet.
"Yes, sir," answered Vaughn.
"We have a veritable who's who of American espionage in the room as I understand it," the President said.
"Yes, sir, and we'd like to use your phone," said Conrad.
"About that, the call would have to go through his assistant, Debbie Fiderer if we call from here and it would have to be logged. Let's call from my office; it's less obvious," said Leo. Bartlet nodded his agreement. "Go make sure my doors are closed, Josh, and that Margaret stays out till we're all clear."
His deputy darted ahead, leaving a relatively stunned Vaughn and Sydney in the Oval with the President. Crystal was too focused on the threat rather than who was standing with her.
"Rob, would Secret Service help Sam?" asked Bartlet.
"If he'll agree, we can have a team of plain-clothed CIA agents surrounding him within a half hour," said Conrad. "It's a matter of getting him to agree to it."
"Surely his cousin can talk some sense into him?" asked Bartlet.
"We'll find out, sir," Crystal said.
Josh reentered the Oval. "All clear."
Stay tuned...
Lines from the next installment:
"You're suggesting we intentionally target a civilian? A high profile one at that..."
Sydney nodded again.
"He's my *cousin*. He's my only real family and you want to..." Crystal couldn't even finish the sentence.
Author's Notes-First attempt at Alias. Hope it works. :" Some of you may see a familiar face with a certain spy-ish character. Just remember that she sort of started over after Simon Donovan died. This is written, or at least is attempted to be written, so that you can pick it up without having seen an episode of either West Wing or Alias or have read any of my previous West Wing stories. Hopefully that goal has been reached. I have to thank my head cheerleader, Agent Double-Oh Dis, who just plain simply rocks. Thanks for always bein' there for me. And especially for getting all giddy when I told you what I was up to. Your encouragement and love is unbelievable and I don't know what I'd do without you. Especially with, y'know, awesome directions and restaurant suggestions for D.C. To the Admiral, with her head full of facts. To the ever-impressive CDA delegation that went with me to our nation's capital, made up of four "University Bitches" and one D.C. Sweetie. To the Communications Director of the University Bitches, thank you for going with me to one of our last trip stops for a little research on this story. You four, though. You rock and I love you all. You made the trip absolutely fabulous. To the 'Crew, with hopes you watch Alias, too (and you-know-who for the title ;) ). For those of you who helped me with names... :" That'd be Dis and the VP University Bitch and the Admiral. I hate names. I hate coming up with them. *G* To Tess, who came to the rescue one late night of fic writing when I couldn't consult the gospel o' WW tapes.
Spoilers-This story takes place before California 47th on West Wing and before A Free Agent on Alias.
Archive-Let me know where, thanks.
Feedback-Always greatly appreciated.
To the Victor Goes the Spoils-When security is a family affair, it's never easy.
The two emerged from the Metro station together. She pondered briefly if it was like the phoenix rising from the ashes. SD-6 was gone. The entire Alliance was gone. She was still alive. All was well. Which was why Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn, two CIA operatives, were out and about in Washington D.C. for a day of sight-seeing before a night of rubbing shoulders with the likes of the Director of Central Intelligence and other high-ranking governmental officials. And Vaughn had a wonderful idea for their first stop of the day. Taking her by the hand, they crossed the street.
Sydney was surprised to see the long line of tourists curling around itself. "What's this?"
"What we're here to see," he said with a smile.
"Well, it's an interesting line, Vaughn, really. Lotsa people..."
He shook his head, leading her towards the door.
"We're not cutting line, Vaughn. These people look like they've been here for hours."
He pulled a pair of tickets from his pocket. "Of course not. It just helps to get these ahead of time."
"We got in late last night."
"So?"
"So, when'd you get those?"
"I called for them a few days ago, had one of the aides out at Langley pick them up and leave them at the hotel for me."
"The envelope you said I shouldn't worry about..." she said, drifting off, realization setting in.
He nodded, leading her inside.
"What is this place?" she asked, looking around.
"The International Spy Museum."
"You *have* to be joking," she said, laughing slightly.
"C'mon, Syd. Let's step back through time to the Cold War and see the old technology. The James Bond-esque relics. All part of our very own world of Espionage."
Having been searched and verified clean by security, Sydney and Vaughn slid through the waiting line to an elevator. It seemed terribly familiar as they climbed in, prompting Vaughn to find Sydney's hand and squeeze it gently. She looked over at him, smiling softly, as the floor lights changed from red to green.
A voice informed them of their next stop, where they were to assume an identity and memorize the information because they were being watched; they would be quizzed. Playing along, they each chose new identities but only looked at the biography briefly while the others were testing each other to make sure they had their facts straight. Sydney even noticed a pair of tourists making "cheat sheets" on the free museum map they'd picked up on the ground floor.
Their next stop was a video briefing on the history of espionage, followed by the "identity quiz" which, naturally, both spies passed without the "security guard" becoming a bit suspicious. They slowly strolled through the museum, taking in the various eye-catching exhibits and hands- on activities. She wondered about the lives of her parents as they wandered in and out of the rooms. Images of Mad Magazine's Spy vs. Spy refused to leave her mind. She could even see her parents in the oversized fedoras and contrasting suits. Making the visit even more surreal was the sound of smaller children, keeping themselves entertained while their parents, children of the Cold War, revisited their old us versus them mentalities, their fears of the Bomb...
"You okay?" he asked softly, bringing her out of her thoughts.
She smiled past the pain. "Of course." She pointed through the small Plexiglas display case. "I think I've used the Marshall 2000 version of that," she said with a slight smile.
"Who knew lipstick could be so deadly?" asked Vaughn with a smile.
"April Dancer."
"Agent Ninety-Nine maybe?" he asked.
"Agent Vaughn?"
The two turned to see a young man in a suit. "Do I know you?" Vaughn asked cautiously.
"DCI Conrad sent me to find you."
He was immediately curious. The Director of Central Intelligence hunted them down in downtown D.C.? "What's going on?"
"He sends his regrets on ruining your day off, but you're needed at the Farm." It was more CIA-speak, code for the main headquarters at Langley.
"Again, what's going on?" asked Vaughn.
"There will be a full briefing if you'll please come with me, Agents."
"At least we got to see Bond's Aston Martin," Sydney said with a slight sigh.
~~~
A young woman in a suit, maybe mid twenties, met Sydney and Vaughn at the main entrance of the CIA headquarters. "Agents, if you'll follow me?" she asked.
Sydney noticed that she seemed harried. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine, ma'am, thanks. The Director will be right in," she said, pulling open the large door to the spacious conference room. She moved in front of it, to keep the door open with her body as she handed them each a file folder. "Take a seat."
Dozens of agents, each with a file folder in front of them, sat at a number of long tables; several were taking notes. A large projection screen was at the head of the conference room, showing a black and white picture of a man, his statistics listed down the side of the screen, such as height, weight, eye color, distinguishing features and other pertinent information. Several flat-screened panels were equally spaced on each table and displayed the same profile.
Vaughn and Sydney found two empty chairs next to each other at the back table and silently slid into them. Vaughn opened the file folder he'd been given while Sydney glanced around the room. She didn't recognize a soul. She did notice an agent at the front of the room hooking up a piece of equipment to a laptop on a smaller desk. She also noticed a woman enter looking even more harried, even more distracted than the aide who'd guided them to the room. She looked all professional with her hair up in a French twist and her black skirt suit perfectly tailored. Her eyes, though, were troubled and red-rimmed behind wire-framed glasses.
"Vaughn..."
"Hm?" He didn't look up from his file.
"Who's that woman, do you know?"
He looked up and in the direction Sydney indicated. "That's Crystal Seaborn."
"Who's she?"
"One of the best in the business. Recruited out of high school. Speaks like six languages. Black ops, rescues... Her specialty is in weapons dealers, but she's done some Syndicate cases, was part of the team that took down SD-1. She's... she's good. Sort of a legend."
"She looks upset."
"A little, yeah."
A tall, distinguished looking gentleman in a suit entered and, with long, powerful strides, crossed to the front of the room. He spoke quietly with the agent at the laptop then nodded. The agent slipped out, dimming the lights before he left. "Good morning," he said somberly. "As most of you have learned by now, Victor Jordan is in town and will, for a fact, be gunning for one of our own agents, Crystal Seaborn. Those of you who are familiar with his MO know that she's in serious danger, as is her cousin." After pressing a key on the laptop, a picture of thirty-something dark- haired man appeared on the desktop flat-screens and large projector screen. "This is Sam Seaborn, the Democratic candidate in the special congressional election in California's 47th district, which is Orange County." With another keystroke, a smaller screen popped up at Sam's hip. It was a live-feed from another CIA office. One with people Sydney and Vaughn recognized. "L.A. office, can you hear me?"
"We're online, Director."
Sydney glanced quickly at Vaughn. That voice that filled the conference room? That voice belonged to her father, also an agent, Jack Bristow.
"Good to have you on board," continued Conrad. "Here's what we know." The display changed again, from the picture of Sam Seaborn to the passenger manifest of an early morning flight into Reagan National Airport. "Jordan arrived with a six-member entourage at 7:15 this morning. Agent Seaborn, three days ago, spotted Jordan at Heathrow Airport and he, her. Jordan, having a photographic memory, recalled an incident in Borneo three years ago." The picture changed again, to a gruesome sight of a hotel suite. "Seaborn was left for dead once. Knowing his pattern and knowing she'd been spotted, she immediately contacted the London office and the report landed on my desk before her flight was taxiing for takeoff. With that information, we discovered his name on the passenger manifest for the international flight last night into this morning. A team of agents was deployed to Reagan this morning, ready and waiting to keep him under surveillance. Unfortunately, in the morning rush, we lost him. It was a clear bait-and-switch with matching SUVs. Jordan never travels without a body double and several bodyguards. We wound up following the body double to a fast-food restaurant then a hotel. Thankfully, before we lost Jordan, we were able to get visuals." The pictures faded into those of matching black SUVs with an enlargement of their license plates.
"Here's our problem," he said, continuing. "Jordan has never been stateside. He knows Agent Seaborn is CIA; that's what brought him to the hotel suite in Borneo the first time." Another picture flashed on screen, that of an insignia. "He's the lead assassin for a terrorist organization called the Red Crescent Order, who we were investigating in Borneo. They specialize in making deals with other terrorist groups, filling in when members get killed off en masse. It's a profitable racket. Sort of mercenaries for terrorists. They also have training camps, protective areas, security for high-ranking members of militant insurgent groups, which is why we're having trouble finding him. He's gone underground and he has unlimited access to deep pockets." The screen changed again, to an older, distinguished looking gentleman. "Adding another layer of intrigue to this case and assisting him monetarily is European media mogul, Charles Renard, who also happens to be his father.
"Jordan, personally, takes any failure as a direct challenge. He failed to kill all three CIA agents in Borneo so he's coming back to finish the job. He's probably hacking the DMV and other online resources to find out who she's related to, who he could hit. With a visible relative in Sam Seaborn," he said as the screen changed back to the original picture of Sam, "we've got our work cut out for us, ladies and gentlemen.
"L.A., the Orange County election takes place in ten days. I want you strategizing on ways to keep the candidate safe. He declined an offer for California State Troopers an hour ago, more than likely due to the publicity factor. The winner of the November election, Horton Wilde, died of natural causes and here is his stand-in being guarded by glaringly obvious law enforcement officers. Stay on the line here and we'll get back to you shortly. D.C., we need to find this man and now. Secret Service, FBI, metro as well as state law enforcement agencies have been notified. They don't want to touch this guy knowing his history of violent behavior but they are going to be on the look out for us and will point us in the right direction should they spot anything suspicious. I want our government officials protected. I want the foreign dignitaries protected. Any bloodshed is a disaster. Laprise, find out what you can from our counterparts in France. Morgan, I want you to take point with the Secret Service to direct the efforts to protect the Executive. Thompson, metro law enforcement. Davidson, take the state agencies. Rowe, FBI; we may need their permission and assistance to take this guy down stateside and I don't want to ask for permission at the last minute and have them drag their feet. Bristow, Vaughn, and Seaborn, I want to see you three in my office. Dismissed."
The agents started to gather up their things to go. The footage of the LA office showed the same thing, with Weiss looking at the D.C. screen and seeing his buddies Sydney and Vaughn. By the time Sydney and Vaughn made it through the mess of agents, Conrad was in a huddle with Crystal and the woman who met them at the entrance, whose name they soon learned.
"Melissa, have Helen try to raise Sam again. Should that fail, I have absolutely no qualms bringing the office of the White House Chief of Staff into this. If he won't talk to me, we'll bounce it through Leo McGarry." The young aide nodded and slipped off. Conrad looked up as Sydney and Vaughn appeared. "Agents, it's nice to finally meet you. I wish it could've been under better circumstances. I know you were supposed to have this day off and I apologize for that."
"It's all right, sir," Sydney said.
Conrad nodded. "If you'll all come with me." The four filed out of the conference room and down the maze of corridors to the Director's office. His assistant, Helen, was on the telephone and they merely slipped into the plush office. "Have a seat."
Vaughn pulled another chair to Conrad's desk as Crystal and Sydney sat down.
"Initial thoughts?" asked Conrad.
Crystal didn't hesitate before speaking. She and Conrad had worked together for a long time. "Have we heard back from the surveillance team? Have they been able to follow the double back to the man?"
Conrad shook his head. "They're too smart for that; I think they know we're onto them. We're getting laser microphones as we speak. They've taken some rooms at a hotel; we're going to see if we can't listen in on what they're talking about. Maybe we can figure out where Jordan is that way."
"Can I ask a question?" Sydney asked.
"Of course," said Conrad, leaning back in his chair slightly.
"Are you certain this guy'll go after her cousin in California? That's a bi-coastal killing and would be quite an operation. If he's only known she's been alive for three days, how likely is it that he'll know her name and that she has a cousin running for Congress in California?"
"Should the unthinkable occur," began Conrad, "and Crys gets killed, it'll be obvious that she has a famous cousin who's mourning her at her funeral. By then, we've got less time to make sure he's protected and he'll probably also be a Congressman. I don't want to take my chances."
"Excuse me, Director, Agents." Helen appeared at his door. "No go on getting through Seaborn's men. Leo McGarry is on the phone for you."
"Thanks, Helen." He clicked the blinking light on his phone, putting the line on speaker. "Leo?"
"Rob, what can I do for you?"
"You know Victor Jordan is here."
"Yeah, I got that in my morning briefing briefly."
"I apologize for the shortness of that meeting this morning, but there's an agent here, the one who lived."
"Yeah?"
"She's the cousin of your former Deputy Communications Director."
"Sam?"
"Yeah."
"And he..."
"Which is why I need your help. He won't take our calls. We want him protected. Heaven knows his cousin is about to have a coronary in my office because of this."
"What can I do?"
"He'd answer your phone call, wouldn't he?"
"Of course."
"I need you to call him and we have to talk to him. His people know our number from caller ID and won't let us get anywhere near him."
"So, how do you want to do this, Rob? You gonna come by my office when I call? Put it on conference?"
"Well, I'd prefer we not bounce the feed all over town. Plus, I want Crystal Seaborn there, along with another pair of agents."
"When?"
"Well, here's the other thing. I don't want her traveling on the ground. She's the main target and I don't want to give him a chance to catch a glimpse of her, especially if they see us entering the main gates of the White House. I want to fly her in."
"A helicopter?"
"Yeah."
"I'll have to alert the Secret Service, some others."
"How long will that take?"
"Half an hour."
"Call us when you're set."
"Will do."
With the phone call ended, Conrad called for Helen and discussed a brief to-do list for her before returning his attention to the three in his office. "Within the hour, I want all of us in the air for the White House."
"Air travel really isn't necessary, sir," said Crystal.
"Yes. It is. Above the clouds is better than being stuck in traffic. And God forbid he get the idea to take you out *at* the White House." He looked at Sydney and Vaughn. "I want you to go with us. Contact your field office; see what's going on, what ideas they have and be prepared to help convince the candidate. Crys, we're gonna talk about your personal protection."
~~~
"Why are there people landing on my lawn and the Service isn't picking me up and taking me somewhere safe?" asked President Josiah--Jed-- Bartlet in the middle of the Senior Staff meeting.
"That's an astonishingly good question, Mr. President," said Josh Lyman, the Deputy Chief of Staff.
Leo spoke up. "Mr. President, that's something I was going to tell you about after this meeting."
"Do we need to discuss this now?" asked the President.
"Probably," acknowledged Leo.
"Okay. Clear out, guys."
The Senior Staff stood, thanked the President, and started to leave the Oval Office but Leo spoke up. "Josh, stick around, please."
Josh glanced at the other members of the Senior Staff--Press Secretary C.J. Cregg, Communications Director Toby Ziegler and Deputy Communications Director Will Bailey. "Sure." Once they all filed out, Josh closed the door.
"Well?" asked Bartlet.
"This morning's intelligence briefing... the agent who survived Jordan's killing," began Leo.
"Yeah?" prompted the President.
"She's Sam's cousin."
"Sam doesn't have a cousin," said Josh, shaking his head. "Two brothers, yes, but, no cousin."
"Actually, Josh, yeah he does. She's CIA," explained Leo.
"Come again?"
"She's a field agent for the CIA. She's the one who narrowly escaped her name being inscribed in the book at Langley," said Leo.
"And the report said..." Bartlet drifted off. "Oh. Oh my God..."
"So, that's DCI Conrad, Crystal Seaborn, and a couple agents coming off the helicopter now," said Leo.
"What are they doing here?" asked Josh.
"Sam's being a stick in the mud about security. His staff won't let the CIA calls go through, so they're here to get a call out to him. He may not listen to the CIA, but he should listen to us," said Leo.
"We're going to have to tell the press something," said Josh. "That's a unmarked black Bell Jet on the White House lawn and C.J.'s gonna get bombarded."
"Press is out at OEOB, for starters. C.J. tossed them out before staff," said Leo. "Besides, we can tell them the CIA Director was flying to, I dunno, BWI for a cross-country trip, his helo had trouble, and we cleared the airspace for it to land."
"Yeah, 'cause that's believable..."
"It'll go out with the trash; it's Friday," said Leo. "Right now we have more important things to worry bout. There's at least one *field* operative on the lawn who has to come in without being seen by too many people."
"Somebody go bring her inside," said Bartlet.
"Excuse me, Mr. President," Josh said, heading for the door to the portico. He exited the Oval and crossed the South Lawn to greet the helicopter.
"Josh," Conrad said cordially as he stepped off the helicopter.
"Director, is there anything I can do?"
"Actually, yeah. In a moment, I'm going to ask a woman to get off the helicopter and I need you to guide her inside as quickly as possible and in a room where she won't be seen by too many people."
"Leo and the President are the only ones in the Oval."
"The Press?"
"They won't be a problem."
Conrad nodded, and looked into the helicopter. "C'mon, Crys."
Conrad handed the brunette out of the aircraft and to Josh, who started to walk her inside.
"My name is Josh Lyman; I'm the White House Deputy Chief of Staff," he said gently as they headed for the building.
"Crystal Seaborn, field ops, hi, how are ya?"
"A little shocked my best friend didn't tell me he had a cousin."
"If it's any consolation, he didn't tell me you were his best friend."
A Marine guard opened the door to the Oval and they stepped inside. "Mr. President, Leo, this is Crystal Seaborn. Agent Seaborn, President Jed Bartlet and his Chief of Staff, Leo McGarry," said Josh.
"Agent Seaborn, it's an honor to meet you," said Bartlet, extending his hand to her.
"Likewise, Mr. President," she said, shaking his hand.
"Are you hanging in there all right?"
"Of course, sir."
The rest of the CIA group entered soon after, and Conrad did the remaining introductions.
"Agents Vaughn and Bristow... the Alliance case?" asked Bartlet.
"Yes, sir," answered Vaughn.
"We have a veritable who's who of American espionage in the room as I understand it," the President said.
"Yes, sir, and we'd like to use your phone," said Conrad.
"About that, the call would have to go through his assistant, Debbie Fiderer if we call from here and it would have to be logged. Let's call from my office; it's less obvious," said Leo. Bartlet nodded his agreement. "Go make sure my doors are closed, Josh, and that Margaret stays out till we're all clear."
His deputy darted ahead, leaving a relatively stunned Vaughn and Sydney in the Oval with the President. Crystal was too focused on the threat rather than who was standing with her.
"Rob, would Secret Service help Sam?" asked Bartlet.
"If he'll agree, we can have a team of plain-clothed CIA agents surrounding him within a half hour," said Conrad. "It's a matter of getting him to agree to it."
"Surely his cousin can talk some sense into him?" asked Bartlet.
"We'll find out, sir," Crystal said.
Josh reentered the Oval. "All clear."
Stay tuned...
Lines from the next installment:
"You're suggesting we intentionally target a civilian? A high profile one at that..."
Sydney nodded again.
"He's my *cousin*. He's my only real family and you want to..." Crystal couldn't even finish the sentence.